


Thirsty, Thirsty For Love

by oneforyourfire



Series: *Miracles in December* [10]
Category: C-Pop, Chinese Actor RPF, EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 10:38:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10435848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/oneforyourfire
Summary: He’s angelic or maybe regal or maybe just Lu Han’s every fantasy incarnate (aka xiuhan morning sex au)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goyangiprince](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goyangiprince/gifts).



> as expected, cheesy, mushy xiuhan
> 
> the prompt for this one was "lazy morning sex" but idk if it's lazy  
> this is fine

The Sunday morning light is gentle and golden along the disheveled mess of Minseok’s dark hair, the puffy swell of his soft cheek, the pale, perfect pink of his parted lips. He’s angelic or maybe regal or maybe just Lu Han’s every fantasy incarnate, and sleepy, overcome, Lu Han pulls back just just just enough to rest his weight on one elbow and _watch_ him. Drink in every single small, beautiful, perfect, golden, golden detail. 

Minseok calls him creepy for this almost every time he catches him, says it automatically and without heat or malice as he flushes and gripes. He says it’s Lu Han being Too Much, like it’s maybe more than he can handle, like maybe Lu Han should stop, but it’s only because he's never _seen_ himself as Lu Han sees him, never seen how amazing and angelic and breathtaking he looks. It’s only because he doesn’t understand the debilitating love that overcomes him every time Lu Han wakes up to Minseok first thing in the morning. Angelic or regal or the decadence of his every sexual fantasy incarnate. 

Everything is soft and hazy and blurry around the edges in these early, private moments, in that milky border between sleep and wakefulness, the light, the muted sounds outside their tiny, tiny apartment, the sensation of warm, rumpled sheets against his bare skin, the kiss of Minseok’s eyelashes against his own cheek, the ghost of his steady breathing, the slow, slow desire, potent, potent affection that curls through Lu Han’s body, the shaky way his hand curls around the nape of Minseok’s neck, the automatic way that Minseok curls into the heat of the touch. 

It’s so dreamy and perfect like this, the sleepy way that Minseok blinks up at him, the sleepy way he moans, too, the way his fingernails whisper over the wrinkled fabric of Lu Han’s boxers. Even the way he tastes—soft and warm and sleepy—as he tilts his head back for Lu Han’s greedy mouth. 

And it’s dreamy like this, perfect like this, hard like this—hard hard hard with Minseok—to distinguish dream from reality, fantasy from truth, hard, hard, hard when Minseok is Lu Han’s angel or king or just every fantasy imaginable, arching into the caress as Lu Han slides his fingers down his body. 

And his body is so fucking perfect, too. A dizzying mix of soft, curved lines, hard muscle, soft, soft skin. It’s stained gold, too. 

Precious, Lu Han thinks, as he drags his mouth over the column of Minseok’s throat, the sharp defintion of his sternum, drags his shaking palms over the tense, soft planes of Minseok’s shoulders, chest, stomach, waist. 

He glides his fingers over the swell of Minseok’s clothed ass, _squeezes_ , and Minseok gasps in his arms but obligingly slides closer. His chin is sharp as it knocks against Lu Han’s chest, teeth hard on the pucker of Lu Han’s nipple. 

Lu Han moans. 

Minseok laughs as he mouths absently at the tense, trembling skin, whispers about how _much_ Lu Han is and how overbearing it is, even as he curls into his embrace, sleepy and soft and warm and golden and perfect, perfect, perfect. 

It’s dreamy, too, the way that Minseok shifts his hips so that Lu Han can slide his boxers down, the way that Minseok’s fingers tiptoe over his scalp, his shoulders as Lu Han presses Minseok down into the mattress and slides down his body, too. Dreamy, dreamy the way that Minseok spreads his legs and tilts his hips and offers his body. 

Lu Han drops kisses on the trembling column of his thighs, nuzzling into the thin skin as the muscles beneath Minseok’s soft stomach tremble with his labored breathing. Lu Han mouths, teases higher, higher, dizzy with the hazy, golden, sleepy need for more and hotter and wetter and deeper. 

And oh, it’s dreamy, too, dreamiest and most perfect of all, the way Minseok’s cock sits heavy on Lu Han’s tongue, the restless whisper of his bare thighs on their sheets, the pulsing taste of Minseok’s want, the breathy way he chants Lu Han’s name, the gorgeously helpless, mindless way his body tenses and stains and quivers with arousal.

And Lu Han wants it just as much, maybe even more. 

He hollows his cheeks, moans into the suction, and Minseok _tugs_ at his hair—painful—when Lu Han teases his thumb along Minseok’s rim in a dry, delicate, dragging caress. 

Minseok twists his hips and _surges_ into it, choking Lu Han in the process, wheezing as the movement drives him impossibly deeper into Lu Han’s lax mouth. 

His hips drop with a heaving shudder, and he claws at Lu Han’s shoulders. 

And Lu Han loves it. Wants it. Fuck. 

“Lube,” Minseok gasps, a small, desperate sound, and Lu Han fumbles for it one-handed as he drags him thumb over the quiver of Minseok’s rim, more insistently now, over and over again just to watch and feel the fine, tiny muscles dance, just to hear Minseok’s every aborted little moan of pleasure, just to _savor_ it. 

The first finger has Minseok gasping again, then louder when Lu Han thrusts, curls, drags, drags, drags. 

Minseok is perfect like this, angelic and regal and decadent like this, impossibly tight and hot and wet and fucking greedy, a dream, dream, dream, his head tipping back, cock jerking, fingers fumbling as they scrape their approval and need across Lu Han’s shoulders, his arms, his neck, his scalp. 

Lu Han curses reverenly, curls another slick finger inside, and Minseok curses, too, his face pinching, body pitching with pleasure. Lu Han spreads his fingers, crooks, and Minseok’s jaw slackens, eyebrows knit. His moan is frayed at the edges. 

“Minseok,” Lu Han whispers into his thigh, and Minseok’s fingernails sting along his scalp. 

“Now,” he insists, tugging him forward by the hair, moaning as Lu Han’s cock drags along his thighs, his waist. 

And oh, it’s a dream come true, Lu Han dizzy on the tight, tight, wet, wet heat, the way that Minseok’s breath rushes out into the most devastatingly delicate moan.  
And Lu Han, with this angel or king or fantasy splayed out and open just for him, is the luckiest man alive, moaning helplessly as he slides all the way inside. 

Minseok trembles when Lu Han shifts his hips just right, lips parting with a richer, longer, dark, dark moan. He wraps his arms around Lu Han’s trembling shoulders. And Lu Han hisses his name. 

“Come on,” he whispers hoarsely, sliding his fingers down Lu Han’s back, bucking his hips in encouragement. “Come on, Lu.” 

And restless, demanding, Minseok guides the pace with his insistent, small, small fingers around Lu Han’s waist, tugging him deep, hard, fast, fast, fast. 

And Lu Han is ever helpless to resist, pressing his face into Minseok’s neck, kissing there mindlessly as he fucks Minseok like he wants, needs, deserves, like Lu Han wants, needs, too. 

Glassy-eyed and lush-lipped and golden and glowing and angelic and regal and sleepy and beautiful and a fucking dream come true, Minseok melts completely into the sheets with a hitched gasp of his name, quiet little chants of more, more, more, surrendering his body, giving, giving, giving, and Lu Han takes, takes, takes.

Lu Han loses himself in pieces, by incriments, dragged further down down down by Minseok’s body, his every soft, sweet, breathless, breathtaking, broken, broken moan. 

Minseok’s head tosses back into their pillows, hair bleeding black and tangled on the pale pink fabric as his hand stumbles down, trembling as it wraps around his cock. The fingers of his other hand slip down Lu Han’s back, fist instead in the sheets, grip white-knuckled as he pants for Lu Han to keep keep keep going. Just like that. Right there. 

And oh, it’s his eyes then, the helpless need that thrums through Lu Han’s veins, the way Minseok’s entire body arches into every deep thrust, the way Minseok blinks up at him, all flushed and sweaty, and fucked out. 

Lu Han is drunk on him and lost in him, and he needs to fuck him more more more, fuck him right, right right. 

This angel, this king, this fucking dream of a man that is his, his, his. 

“Please,” Lu Han chants into the tendons on Minseok’s throat. “Minseok,” Lu Han says, going as hard and as deep and as good as he can. 

Minseok comes soft and breathy and weak, weak tremors, weaker moans, weak, weak, weak, sporadic clenches of his lower body around Lu Han’s aching cock. 

And Lu Han’s arms tremble near Minseok’s shoulders, hips jerking—weak, too, the movement mindless and helpless and needy and clumsy with desperation. 

“Minseok,” he pants into Minseok’s jawline, lips dragging shakily along the sharp, sharp cut of delicate skin, sharp corners, his hips crashing hard and loud and inelegant against Minseok’s ass.

But it’s still a dream, dream, dream. A dream come true. 

Shaky, unsteady, Minseok’s hands grope towards Lu Han’s cheeks, cupping, cradling as he clenches intentionally around his cock, and Lu Han collapses fully then, rutting gracelessly into him. 

“Come inside me,” Minseok urges, petting his hair back, still a dream, dream, dream, and oh, that’s really all it takes, all it would ever take. 

Orgasm is so close, he can nearly taste it. 

Minseok nips at his throat, restless, mindless, small, sharp, and Lu Han’s hips stutter on a deep, desperate, desperate grind. The pleasure blazes, quakes, tears, tears, tears through his spent body, and Minseok groans as he holds him through it, keeping him steady as he drowns and drowns and drowns, comes breathlessly into Minseok’s perfect, perfect body, held in his perfect, perfect embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> killing two birds with one stone tonight
> 
> ~merry xmas, violet, my love  
> happy (early) birthday kim minseok, my love 
> 
> [oh baby it’s yoooooooou](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RW8iyJcmve4)


End file.
